


Boxing Day

by betabee



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Secret Santa 2015, kinda angsty but a happy ending, tw: alcohol abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 22:56:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5473616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betabee/pseuds/betabee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My secret santa gift for missielynne over on tumblr! Prompt was: Holiday blues, Moe's Christmas visit.<br/>Summary: Rum recalls a Christmas day which didn't go quite as planned...<br/>Trigger warning: Some mentions of alcohol abuse within this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boxing Day

 

Rumford Gold woke up on Boxing Day in the bed he shared with his wife with a pounding headache, an ache in his ankle, and an awful sense that he had ruined everything, but wasn’t quite sure why.

He groaned quietly, the rusty noise from his vocal chords too much even at the low volume required to not wake Belle up, and reached blindly across to the bedside table after he determined that opening his eyes made the throbbing in his skull unimaginably worse. After some feeling around, he found the small box of painkillers and the glass of water he had left there the night before, and ever so slowly eased himself into a sitting position so he could take the pills, resting his head against the headboard as he did so to ease the dizzy feeling that came when he sat up.

He remained there for a good few minutes more as he waited for the pills to work, and eventually he was able to crack his eyes open long enough to locate his cane (hooked over the end of the bedside table) and stumble through to the bathroom. As he sat on the toilet, the thumping in his head eased enough to let him remember the events of the previous evening, and he let out a slightly louder groan of despair, cut off when it grated across his ears again.

 

_*** The day before ***_

 

Rumford _had_ planned to spend Christmas morning in bed with his wife, snuggling and showing their love for one another and generally ignoring the world for this one day in particular.

Belle seemed to have the same notion that morning, so they were both caught off guard when at half past ten in the morning, the bell rang, the sound from the front door echoing through the house.

Belle was quickly able to identify who it was before he even had the chance to storm downstairs and tell whoever it was to get lost.

“Oh my god- I almost forgot! Rum, remember I invited my dad to come over, spend Christmas day with us?”

He thought for a moment, but then it came back to him. She had asked a few weeks back, and with some gentle persuasion, he had agreed.

With a few muttered curses to his weak-willed past self, he stumbled out of bed onto the cool wooden floors, hissing at the draught of cold air on his toes, to throw on one of his suits (a matter of comfort rather than trying to impress his father in law; he _always_ wore suits, except for the rare occasions Belle persuaded him to wear something else, and that was never in public). Why on earth had he not put this into the calendar? (well, he’d been distracted by Belle thanking him, but that was no excuse!) He hadn’t had time to tidy the living room, or hide his favourite scotch (that man always went for the scotch when he came to visit, and the best scotch at that), or buy a present, or make sure the turkey was big enough for three…

But Moe visiting on Christmas day of all days would make his Belle happy. It was their first Christmas together as a married couple, their first Christmas together full stop, and he wanted it to be perfect for her if at all possible. He could endure this, for her sake.

Belle was still dressing by the time Rum was dressed, so he left the bedroom to go and let his father in law in, cane in hand and kissing Belle on the way past, a tender and quick peck on the lips.

It was a good quarter of an hour after the doorbell had rung when Rum finally reached and opened the front door, ushering in a grumpy-looking Moe with a wave of his hand.

“Happy Christmas.” He said in greeting as Moe came in, though there was a definite lack of warmth in his voice.

“Likewise.” Moe returned in an equally frosty voice, stopping him before he could close the door. “I’ve got some presents in the car, shall I bring them in?”

Rum gave a nod of assent, holding the door open as Moe made three trips between the car and the house, arms laden with presents each time, dumping each lot somewhere in the living room. Eventually, he motioned to Rum to close the door behind him as he came in with a final armful of presents, and Rum followed him into the living room.

The presents Moe had brought were piled haphazardly in front of the fireplace, but Rum noted with a certain level of satisfaction that the pile wasn’t quite as large as the pile of presents he had brought Belle, all wrapped with impeccable care and nestled under the tree he had specifically chosen a month ago. The entire effect would have been elegant, if it weren’t for Moe’s pile of presents, wrapped in the thin paper that clearly was from the flower shop Moe ran.

He was drawn out of his musings, however, by the noisy clatter Belle made as she came down the stairs, entering the living room with her own pile of presents, all wrapped in a metallic blue paper and tied with ribbons. She deposited her pile of presents halfway between Moe’s pile and the Christmas tree, before pulling her father into one of her usual enthusiastic hugs. He took the time to set their dinner off cooking while Belle and her father chattered away on one of the sofas, returning a few minutes later so that they could start on opening presents.

He was very happy with what Belle gave him- a pair of cuff-links here, a stack of books on various antiques and restoration methods to help him out at his shop, as well as a pile of books from a crime novel series he’d had his eye on for a while, all beautifully bound together with a glittery blue ribbon. Belle seemed equally taken with her stacks upon stacks of books, interspersed with dresses and shoes and rose-smelling perfumes and lotions he’d found in the store she favoured.

The presents they and Moe exchanged, however, didn’t seem to go down quite as well. He frowned a little at the vase Gold had contributed to his pile (a beautiful piece he had found within the depths of his shop and was sorry to see go) and Gold was a little disappointed at the pair of novelty socks he had received, eying the pattern of slightly-creepy looking snowmen around the ankles with disdain. Belle, on the other hand, seemed taken with the reindeer knee-high socks she had received, and Moe chuckled at his new very tacky Christmas jumper, which he immediately pulled on.

He was a good few chapters into one of his new books when the ringing of the smoke alarm started thrumming through the house. All three of them rushed through to the kitchen, Belle going to retrieve the badly-burned turkey from the oven while gold used the handle of his cane to stop the insistent yell of the alarm on the ceiling. The vegetables cooking on the hob weren’t faring much better, the brussel sprouts reduced to a mush and the roast potatoes and parsnips and carrots in the oven badly charred. The three of them struggled through their plates of food anyway at the elegantly decorated table in the dining room, but when it came time to take the plates through to the kitchen again all three were at least half full.

Moe stayed until early evening, and when Belle reached for the remote to switch to BBC America in time for Dr Who he stood abruptly and made to leave, despite Belle’s protests.

“Oh come on, Dad! Surely you can stay for Dr Who? It’s gonna be a good one!”

“I’ve got better things to do with my evening than watch some random escapist nonsense, Belle. I’ve got things to organise at the shop before boxing day.”

Belle scoffed, but her answer was cut off by Gold’s scathing reply. “You mean you’re going to go home and drown your sorrows in drink, like you usually do?”

“Like you can talk, Gold!” He growled back. “You used to visit the liquor store just as often as I did!”

“Operative word: _used to_ , French!” Gold replied. “How could you abandon Belle for the comfort of the inside of a bottle?”

Moe just shook his head, and despite Belle’s pleading looks, gathered his small pile of presents and left.

He turned to Belle, to motion her back to the living room, but she stopped him with a hand.

“I… I don’t think you should have brought up the drinking thing, Rum. You know he’s been having a hard time with his addiction; he’s been getting counselling, he’s been sober for two months, there was no need to have a go at him about it again!”

“He was the one who started with insulting your favourite TV program!” He replied, and she shook her head, moving into the living room. He made to follow, but she stopped him with a hand.

“Just because he tries to start fights doesn’t mean you had to take the bait, Rum! Now, I’m going to watch my TV program, and I’d prefer to do it alone, okay?” And with that, she closed the door, leaving him standing in the hallway. He almost made to protest, but then turned to hobble through to his study instead.

She was right, as usual. He shouldn’t have accused Moe like that, and Belle was right to be cross. He would apologise later, after she had finished watching her program, and in the meanwhile he would sit in his study and have a drink.

A good hour and half a bottle of scotch later, he admitted to himself that not drinking on a regular basis, while good for his liver, was not doing wonders for his ability to hold his drink. He made to get up and go upstairs, but the soft creaking of the study door startled him enough that, as Belle came into the room, she found him sprawled on the floor by his desk, cane clattering against the wood but breaking his fall.

She rushed around to help him up with a soft exclamation of dismay. He was slightly out of it as she manhandled him gently up the stairs and to their bedroom, her words turned into a soft and soothing mumble in his ears as he leaned on her. He tried to mumble an apology when they stopped in their bedroom, but she stopped his words with a gentle kiss and more words he couldn’t quite make out before she helped him into his pajamas, swiftly changing into her own as he lay down before she crept into bed beside him. He felt her snuggle up against him, an arm creeping to lay across his chest, head nestled on his shoulder, and he pulled her close gently as he drifted off into a stupor.

 

_*** The present ***_

 

Well.

He had some serious apologising to do, it seemed, both to Belle and her father.

He really hadn’t intended to drink that much; one drink to fortify the nerves before apologising to Belle had turned into three had turned into half a bottle. Maybe it was time to get rid of the contents of the liquor cabinet for good- he had restocked it for Christmas purposes, but in hindsight that was an awful excuse.

He quickly finished on the loo and staggered back through to the bedroom. Belle wasn’t asleep any more; she watched him as he crossed the room and sat back down on the edge of his side of the bed again, wiping the sleep from her eyes. He propped his cane up, then turned to her.

“I… I’m sorry for what happened last night.” He said, haltingly. “I didn’t mean to get drunk. I’m sorry.”

She sighed, then pulled him down into her arms, a gentle hand soothing up and down his back as she whispered in his ear.

“Rum, I forgive you. I didn’t react the best way either; I shut you out, and I’m sorry.”

“ ‘S not your fault.” He mumbled, but she shook her head.

“We both could have done better, my love.” She said, dragging his head up to pull him into a gentle kiss, a soft and forgiving meeting of lips. After a moment, he pulled back to look into her eyes again.

“I guess I should go get rid of the rest of the scotch later today.” He mumbled. “And possibly call your father to apologise.”

“You know, he and I always argue over Dr Who.” She said conversationally. “And we always get each other tacky presents, and we always end up burning one of the many things we cook.” She slid a hand through his hair, ruffling and stroking gently as they looked into each other’s eyes. “I thought it was one of the best Christmases I’ve ever had.”

“But… but… but it all went wrong! How can that be good?” he protested.

“It was the best because I got to spend it with the people I love, and we were so human with each other. We were just ourselves, together. If that’s not the point of the holidays, what is?”

He felt his vision blur slightly as his eyes teared up. “I feel very human today.” He said. “Not least because of this headache…”

She gave a chuckle, and peppered his face with kisses, and his headache, the disaster of the day before, and the difficult tasks to do later that day no longer mattered one bit.

Maybe it hadn’t been his best Christmas ever, but it was going to be the best boxing day, he was certain of it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Find me over on tumblr at hedwighood :-) and happy Christmas!!


End file.
